


My True Love Gave to Me

by significantowl



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: (aka Elektra definitely lives), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Christmas Presents, F/M, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Massage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 17:19:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17084459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/significantowl/pseuds/significantowl
Summary: When Elektra pressed the bottle of massage oil into his hands, the first thing Matt said was, “This your way of telling me I move like an old man?”“No. Like a strong man recuperating.” She ran a hand down his side, fingers warm on his bare skin. “And there's no shame in that.”~Matt gets a Christmas gift a little bit early.





	My True Love Gave to Me

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 12 Days of Mattelektra at tumblr, day one, prompt "presents".

It was probably time for a new mattress. Waking on his stomach, Matt pushed up on his elbows, then rolled slowly to one side. His muscles were kinked and knotted, a twisted thread of fire that burned brightest in his lower back. 

Something a little firmer: that would do it. Something with a little less give.

Next to him, the bed was cool. Elektra had been up for a while, then. As he eased his feet onto the floor, Matt reached out further with his senses; she was sitting at his dining table, scrolling through something on a tablet. Her head turned in his direction, and he knew she'd noticed him stirring. 

“Hey there, early bird,” he said, before making the final push toward standing up. It wasn’t pleasant, but he smiled when it was done.

“Mm, does that make you my worm?” Elektra met him at the doorway to the bedroom, holding out a mug of tea laced with sweet notes of honey. “Good morning. Are you hungry?”

“Not really. Not yet. But this is perfect, thank you,” Matt said, curling his hands around the mug. Gentle warmth seeped into his palms, and he took a moment to bask in it, and in the echoing warmth radiating from Elektra’s body, before taking his first sip.

“Good. I'm glad.” She smoothed a messy lock of hair off his forehead, and he leaned into the touch. “I'd like to give you something else. One of your Christmas presents.”

“You would, huh? Six days early?”

On his coffee table sat a cluster of gift-wrapped boxes. Matt had laughed the day Elektra brought them in; touching the slippery paper, he’d asked, “Why bother?”

“I didn't. The girl at Bergdorf’s did. And there’s a very good reason for it, Matthew,” she’d added sternly. “You may not know as much about what's in those boxes as you think. And I’m not going to have that Franklin of yours blabbing and spoiling the surprise.”

That was then. Now, she was nodding and saying, “Yes, darling. I want you to have it six days early.”

“Yeah?” Matt tipped his head, considering this. “Which one?”

One box held richly aromatic tea - at his best guess, oolong. Another box contained cashmere fibers, he was certain of that much, and by its weight he _thought_ it was a sweater… but Elektra was right, he couldn't entirely be sure. A third package held a heavy bottle filled with liquid of some kind, emanating light aromas of almond, macadamia, and lavender.

That was the box Elektra plucked from the pile. “What is it?” he asked. “Bath oil? Lotion?”

“Neither.” She pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Massage oil. Why don't you get a little more comfortable before you open it?”

Raising his eyebrows, Matt said, “I'm wearing pajama pants, how much more comfortable do you want me?”

“Let's put it this way. If you come out of that bathroom wearing anything at all, it better be no more than a towel.”

As Matt crossed the apartment, he could tell his gait was off, and he hated the way it made him feel, heavy and slow. He took care of business in the bathroom, dropped his sleep clothes in the hamper, and then wrapped a clean, soft towel around his waist as directed. Every movement he made was frustratingly stiff, and it couldn't have been more obvious what was behind Elektra's sudden desire for early gift-giving. While much of Matt craved what she was offering, something dark and ugly still twisted in his gut. 

He hated it. Hated himself for harboring it. There was no room for such things between he and Elektra.

Still, when he met Elektra in the bedroom and she pressed the gift box into his hands, the first thing Matt said was, “This your way of telling me I move like an old man?”

“No. Like a strong man recuperating.” She ran a hand down his side, fingers warm on his bare skin. “And there's no shame in that.”

Trust Elektra to put a name to it. But hearing it from her was easier than hearing it from anyone else. She knew that precise feeling of _not good enough_ , of _weak_ , because she'd lived with the same crotchety old voice in the back of her head for most of her life that he had.

She knew how revolutionary the concept _no shame_ in weakness actually was. She could make him believe. 

“Don't open it if you don't feel like it,” she said quietly. “But I hope that you will.”

Matt tore through the glossy paper and used his fingernails to pry open the box. The bottle was made of smooth, weighty glass, and he carefully handed it over to Elektra. “Where do you want me?”

“Face down on the bed.” Matt clambered creakily onto the mattress, then pushed his pillows aside, stretching out with his head resting on his folded arms. Elektra approved: she leaned over him, strands of her hair dancing over his bare back, and dropped a kiss to the nape of his neck. “Beautiful,” she said.

Then she straddled him, knees snug to his hips, and settled back delicately across his thighs. The silk of her pajama pants was warm from the heat of her body, and caressing him gently. Elektra dropped another kiss at the crest of his spine, and a shiver slipped sweetly all the way down.

“Good?”

“Very.”

And it was. Her weight wasn’t hurting him; instead it was a steady, blessed anchor. His body had been buried by a skyscraper. It had been drowned in a river. And now it was rooted to this time, this place, by Elektra, _with_ Elektra. He could ask for nothing better than that. 

Contrary to Matt’s expectations, the scent of the massage oil didn’t amplify exponentially the moment Elektra uncapped the bottle. It was stronger, of course, but even the herbal tang of lavender was startlingly pleasant and light. Some of Matt’s surprise must have shown on his face, because Elektra laughed. “I told the man I’d make it worth his while if he could make a batch at a hundredth of its usual strength.”

Was “the man” some indie aromatherapist out in Brooklyn, or the head developer at a major corporation? Both seemed equally likely. The oil pooled in Elektra’s palm; she rubbed her hands together to warm it, then bore down with perfect pressure on Matt’s shoulder blades.

His shoulders were tight - throw punches as hard as Matt did, as often as he did, and that was bound to happen - but not particularly painful. Elektra was beginning with baby steps. She alternated kneading his muscles and simply caressing his skin, spreading oil all across his upper back until it felt like butter in every way, pliant and smooth. 

She poured more oil into her palm, then moved lower on his back, closer to where that thread of fire coiled the tightest.

He tensed. Stupid. Involuntary. Elektra didn't pull away, but bent her head and kissed the skin framed by her finger and thumb - once for the left hand, once for the right.

“I want you to,” Matt said, raspy. He cleared his throat. “Please.”

When she began again, fingers digging gently into burning muscle, Matt blew out a breath. Six men they'd fought last night, and while they'd handily won, she'd bested him moment to moment in speed, agility, and grace. Sometimes it felt like all he had left was raw power and flagging stamina, and while his ego knew those weren't nothing, it left him feeling like a shadow of his former self, more ghost than devil.

Could Elektra dig the real fighter out of him, inch by inch? Maybe, but she was doing it so slowly. No, _luxuriously_. Like her one and only goal was to make Matt feel good.

He had to admit it was working.

Elektra knew precisely how to balance pleasure and pain. First she'd work at a hurt, deliberately working deeper and deeper into the muscle, then move to less fraught ground. She took her time, like a general who knew battles were won or lost in the planning - and like the woman who knew Matt's body better than anyone. 

And sure enough, the tide began to swing fully towards pleasure, and Matt felt his dick stir against the mattress. He hummed a little, breathing into the feeling, while Elektra kneaded his hips, just above the towel.

Of course she noticed his reaction, and took it as encouragement. After slicking up her palms once again, Elektra shifted position, settling near his knees, then folded his towel up into one single, barely modest strip of cloth. Methodically, she went to work on his hamstrings, digging into the tendons just beneath his ass, working her hands forward and back, forward and back.

The rhythm was unmistakable. Matt was happy to give into it, let Elektra rut him gently, relentlessly, into the silk sheets, while blood pounded between his legs and his mind turned into a broken record, stuck on _more, more, more_.

Little noises began escaping, small pants and grunts; Matt didn't even realize he was making them until Elektra ran a finger over his lips, then slipped it inside, prying them gently apart. 

“Go on,” she said. “Let me hear you.”

Matt gasped, and the sound became a groan a moment later, when Elektra softly slapped his ass. “Better,” she said.

“If - if you really want to hear me, I have some ideas.”

She laughed. “I'm sure you do. But we need to be careful. Don't want to undo all that hard work, do we? You need to stay nice and loose.” She swept her hand over the curve of his spine. “No arching your back. No straining.”

“Roll me over,” Matt said. He swallowed. “I can be good.”

“I was enjoying _this_ view,” Elektra complained, patting his ass fondly, but she did it, easing Matt onto his back.

“Is this view really so bad?” Matt cocked his eyebrows at her.

“I suppose not,” she conceded, swinging a leg over his lap. She poured out a little more oil. “Better start at the top, hadn't I?”

“Unless something else seems more urgent?”

“Hmm… no,” Elektra said, and Matt laughed, utterly unsurprised.

But, thank God, Elektra did begin to pick up the pace. He knew it wasn't just for his benefit - her skin was warm, her scent more richly layered, and they both knew Matt would be lavishing attention on her soon enough. She'd asked him earlier if he was hungry; now, what Matt wanted most of all was her on his lips, and that's how he intended for the morning to end, with her settled warm and snug over his face.

She wasn't massaging him now so much as skimming his skin, teasing him with the way her hands glided over his chest. By the time Elektra's hands journeyed all the way down to his waist, coming to rest heavy and promising just a hair's breadth from his stiff dick, Matt was panting, huffing short breaths between his teeth, and his fingers were twisting in the sheets, bearing all his strain while he willed the rest of his body to follow the rules. No arching. No straining. 

“You're still terribly quiet,” Elektra noted thoughtfully, touching his bottom lip with the pad of her thumb.

“Think there's -” He sucked in a breath. “Think there's something you could do about that.” 

“If you're certain you're ready,” she said, spreading her palm wide and low over his stomach. The heel of her hand brushed the tip of Matt's dick, and it twitched in response, as involuntary and desperate as the growl that rumbled in his throat.

“See, I think you like this view too,” he said. “You like seeing what you do to me.”

“Guilty.” Elektra splayed her left hand over the center of his chest. “Now remember, stay down -”

He didn't buck up off the bed when her fingers finally closed around his dick, and he didn't immediately come either. But both were very near misses, and Matt did bite his lip hard enough to make it throb - and dear _God_ , was his dick throbbing too, in secure in Elektra's heated grip.

She stroked him, _finally_ , cresting over the head with her slick fingers. Matt gasped for air, a sick, strangled sound that must have pleased her, because she stroked him again, no hesitation, just heat and motion and everything he needed.

Matt _needed_.

He told her so, in broken words and syllables, until _please_ was barely more than a breath of air passing his lips. If his naked, vocal need was a gift, then he would give it to her over and over again. She could have it. She could have it all.

“I hear you, darling,” Elektra said, and sped her hand just enough that Matt shuddered and let go.

In the moments after, catching his breath with Elektra curled close beside him, and every inch of him soft, and loose, and relaxed, it was hard for Matt to see his body as an enemy, or to even bother trying to label his mattress a villain. That was a gift Elektra had given him, just one out of so many that he'd never be able to count them all. 

Pulling Elektra even closer, Matt stroked his thumb over her cheek, and traced of her smile.

This must be what it felt like to be blessed.

**Author's Note:**

> Always flailing about mattelektra at [tumblr](http://significantowl.tumblr.com%22)!


End file.
